Harry Potter's Quasisequelish 7th year at Hogwart
by Execrator
Summary: This is my first chaptered fic ever. The story picks up after Harry gets home from his 6th year at hogwarts. It's meant to be funny, but I appreciate honesty when you review. Now rated T for some swearing and mild sexual themes, and lots of Emo cutting
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter's 7th year at Hogwarts!

Disclaimer: Okay, I don't own any HP stuff. This will be the only disclaimer.  
This is also my first chaptered fic. Enjoy!

Harry Potter was in a good mood, which you wouldn't expect, seeing as he had to defeat the Dark Lord and was faced with the daunting task of finding all of those stupid horcruxes. He was happy because he had miraculously, for the purposes of this story, just gotten huge muscles and long hair. His good mood was enhanced further when he found a box labeled "Voldemort's Secret Horcruxes—DO NOT TOUCH!" under his bed. Upon opening the box he found (surprise!) all of Voldemort's horcruxes. Blatantly ignoring the large-print instructions on the box, he grabbed a hammer and destroyed them all. Then Voldemort came, but he tripped on a chair and paralyzed himself. "What the hell did you do that for?" Voldemort yelled, his words garbled because of the fact that half of his face was immobile. "The instructions on the box _clearly_ stated tha—,". Voldemort didn't finish his sentence. Harry, using his miraculous new muscles, crushed Voldemort's head until it popped. Then he tossed back his mane of hair and mentally killed all the death eaters with the Wandless-magic he had learned all of a sudden.

Reality sunk in 30 seconds later. Voldemort and his followers were dead! Hogwarts could be kept open! The wizarding world was free from the cruel yoke of Voldemort's influence! Harry put on some techno music, got a funny hat, put said hat on, and began dancing. Then a monkey (you can't have a good fanfic without a random reference to monkeys!) attacked his face, but Harry used his wandless-magic to turn it into a mango. Harry then proceeded to eat the mango with chopsticks. It then occurred to him that nothing that had happened in the last few sentences had made any sense in the slightest. As the author was pondering the effort it would take to hit the delete key for the six seconds needed to delete this paragraph, Harry finished up his mango, took off the funny hat, and wandered out of his room.

Then a lucky thing happened. Snape, who had been running for the past week and a half to get away from the constabulary (what a neat British word!), accidentally ran into Harry's house, thinking it was an abandoned warehouse he could hide in. He must have been on crack or something. Harry, who knew that he should probably take the effort to kill Snape while he was unawares, again used his wandless magic to kill snape with a large anvil from the sky. Malfoy came running in right afterwards, panting, "God Dammit Snape, could you at least wait for me to catch up? Jesus," before noticing Harry's presence. He then screamed "all power to the soviets!" before disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke.

None of these happenings put a dent into Harry's good mood. Harry went to go watch TV. His good mood was ruined, however, when he saw an ad for the new 60 less fat Chex Mix. As the phrase "Snack on!" reverberated over and over in Harry's mind, insanity slowly began to sneak in. Insanity snuck back out quickly, however, when the new Geiko ad thankfully appeared on the beautiful, shiny, picture box. Then Harry realized that he was just being used as an outlet by the Author to tell everybody which ads he liked and disliked. "Okay, this is really fucked up. Shit, I have no idea what's going on anymore," thought Harry. But then it occurred to Harry that he might as well be saying what he was thinking, because everybody reading could see his thoughts anyway. This screwed with Harry's mind even more. The confusing blend of fanfiction and Harry's reality began taking it's toll on Harry's poor brain. Shit, it's even taking a toll on _my_ brain. I think I'll get on a new subject now.

Ginny, meanwhile, was having a great summer. She had filled out in all the right places. And when I say that, I mean it. All those other poser fics _say_ she filled out in all the right places, but not like this. I mean, she _really_ filled out in all the right places. Like, it was completely beyond comprehension how much she filled out in all the right places. Plus, she won 15,000 galleons in some sort of weird sweepstakes. With all this new money she bought herself a few thousand buckets of KFC fried chicken. But then she gave all of the chicken to Ron, because she had filled out in all the right places and didn't want to lose the beautiful figure she had attained by filling out in all the right places.

Ron, obviously, ate the chicken with much delight. I mean, it's obvious from all the hidden clues in the sixth book that Ron loves chicken. Any moron who can read between the lines could see that. Ron's appearance had changed over the summer, although not from the chicken. You see, he had gotten into the "long hair" trend that had taken the world by storm. Every time his father saw him (which wasn't often, seeing as he was MINISTER OF MAGIC!) he said something along the lines of, "what's with all this long hair crap these days?" while staring disgustedly at Ron's head. Of course, Ron thought it looked cool. He was always shaking it out of his eyes like it was no big thing, although in reality it was just to show the world (Hermione) how hot he was. Of course, the Author can't say anything, seeing as he's got the "long hair crap" look going too.

That last sentence just rendered half a paragraph completely devoid of any persuasive value it ever had. No use going back now. Anyway…now that we're on the subject of talking about the Author, we might as well say that the Author thinks reviews on this story would be a great way to help him improve as a writer, if he ever wanted to. For example, you could tell Him (notice the capital H) to stop switching between "I" and "The Author". Or you could just forget you ever read this paragraph.

Hermione was having a totally shitty depressing summer. Actually, she was having a great time, but ever since she turned goth at the end of the year, she would never admit to being happy. Yeah, that's right, goth. Never would've expected it, eh? True dat. Hermione dressed almost exclusively in black (in fact, the only non-black article of clothing she had was a pair of blood red socks with skulls on them). She had many chains attached to her pants, creating an annoying jingly noise wherever she walked. An extra effect of those chains was to make it so the pants were falling right off her ass, if they weren't already. Other weird things she did to make herself look "angrier" were to handcuff the legs of her pants together, carry around a large black umbrella even when it was not raining, and made a pair of suspenders out of caution tape.

Hermione's parents were not happy with this change. Of course, since they were both rich, neglectful parents with 85 hour work weeks, they didn't do much to change it. A plus side of having two parents with 85 hour work weeks was that you could listen to as much faggy death metal music as your heart desired. Of course, Hermione really preferred Classical to death metal, but it was better than all that techno crap her retarded parents were into. Who wants to listen to a repeating bass line with random bleeping for 45 minutes? Apparently, rich, neglectful parents with six-digit salaries derive some enjoyment from it, defying all reason.

Okay, now I'm done recapping what all the main characters did over the summer. Now maybe some actual things will happen. Actually, probably not. But hope springs eternal, right?


	2. Chapter 2

Harry, after experiencing the weird mix of reality and fantasy that usually only LSD users get to enjoy, was ready to go back to Hogwarts. But first, in accordance with the standards set by the Fanfiction Society of America (FSA) he had to go to the burrow for a month. While poring over huge piles of boring documents, desperately searching for a loophole in the FSA rules, Dumbledore came over to his house to apparate Harry over there. "No! Noooooooo! Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Harry yelled out while the world spun around him and that goddamn annoying tug at his navel pulled him to the burrow.

Soon he plopped on the ground in front of the Burrow. The first thing he noticed was that the exterior had been completely redone. Now, instead of looking like a overgrown shack unfit for a hobo, it resembled the rambling free-form architecture of Frank Ghery. To Harry, it looked as if somebody had dropped a humongous pile of glass, brushed titanium, and hardwood flooring on the ground and stepped on it a few times. He turned around to yell at Dumbledore, but, anticipating Harry's displeasure, he had turned heel and ran as fast as he could down the road. And for an old guy, that was pretty damn fast, yo. That shit is _crazy_, homie. Word.

Harry decided that now he was here and there was no turning back, he might as well go inside. The interior wasn't much better than the exterior. Whoever decided to integrate the furniture directly with floor has to be some kind of stoner. And whoever told him that earth tones were a good idea definitely deserved to go roast in the bowels of hell. It was like looking at Britney Spears, that's how bad it was. And what was worse that all the lighting fixtures were embedded in the floor, which meant that if you wanted to read something you were screwed.

Ron soon came running down the stairs, hair flying like it was no big deal. He stopped suddenly right in front of Harry, letting the hair fly into his face, again, like it was no big deal. He just sat there with hair covering his eyes until Harry began to make pleasant small talk with him. Then he shook it out of way with some seizure-like head motions until you could see his eyes. "Hey, mate, my summer was way awesome, mate. I spent the entire summer eating fried chicken and fantasizing about Hermione, mate. I also bought some petrol for my mum's new car at an actual petrol station! Watch me ruin perfectly fine dialogue by overusing the word 'Mate', mate!" Ron said, wondering why the Author was so obsessed with trying to make the dialogue seem authentic. "So, how was your summer, mate?"

"Well, it sucked for the most part, but I got to kill Voldemort. Turns out that box of junk I had under my bed was actually a box of all of his Horcruxes. So, that was pretty sweet. But then I cut myself with a razor while thinking about how much Ginny obviously hates me. I was seriously considering becoming emo for a while until I decided that I would probably end up killing myself. So, I just watched TV and witnessed my personality get torn to shreds by some guy called The Author."

"That sucks mate. I'm glad this shady "Author" dude hasn't ripped my personality to bits. I'd hate it if my actions didn't seem authentic to my character, mate," responded Ron, completely unaware of the irony of his words.

Just then, Ginny came down the stairs. She and Harry just stared at each other for a while, before Ginny scurried back up to her room. Harry fell into a depression. "It's so obvious she hates me. Why does she hate me? Why does my life suck so much! WHERE ARE MY RAZOR BLADES?" Harry yelled, feeling the sudden urge to cut his wrists. After nobody responded to his query regarding the whereabouts of his razor blades, Harry took out a pencil and began a futile attempt to cut his wrists with it. "Anything to feel again…anything to feel again…" Harry murmured, repeatedly stabbing his wrists with the rather dull pencil. Then he realized (actually, The Author realized) that since he had wandless-magic skillz, he could conjure up a box of razor blades. "Oh SNAP!" Harry cried, preparing himself for some hot wandless-magic action. Ron tackled him before he could say anything. Because The Author is too lazy to write dialogue for this situation, Harry and Ron both sat there for a while until something happened.

Unfortunately for Harry and Ron, nothing of note happened for 45 minutes, during which time they did absolutely nothing. Well, they were still breathing and blinking, but that's about it. Just before Harry was going to die from the lack of activity, Fred and George came crashing in through the roof. They lay face down on the floor, grunting and groaning. "Jesus. Those 'parachute ear' candies we made sure didn't turn out very well. I think it may have been better if we tested them before we just assumed they worked. Christ, my face hurts after ramming through that concrete roof," either George or Fred said.

George and Fred then noticed the presence of Harry and Ron in the room. After exchanging some quick pleasantries, Fred and George apparated out of there quicker than The Author fleeing from a country music CD. "Well, mate, that was pretty bloody fucked up, mate. At least that's not going to affect the plotline at all," commented Ron. "Actually, by us saying this it actually has affected the plotline," responded Harry. "But we could just decide to ignore this part of the story and skip on to the next."

Harry then remembered what he had been doing before the forty-five minute pause in the action. "Accio Razorblades!" Harry yelled, saying the spell to conjure the razor blades he needed to stop the pain. Suddenly a box of razorblades appeared in his hand. Harry immediately took one out and began cutting all over his arm with it. "Cutting is my only escape from the black fog of misery that is my life." Harry said while the warm blood was trickling down his arm. "This is the only way I can see if I'm still alive. I have no emotion," he continued, now switching to the other arm. "Pain is my sanctuary."

The Author would like to take this moment to say that he does not encourage self-harm in any way. He is also hoping that he offends some people. That is all.

"Bloody hell mate, stop cutting yourself! You're getting blood all over our horrible décor, mate!" Ron yelled, lunging at Harry again. Harry dodged Ron's tackle and ran up the stairs. And, surprise, he ran into Ginny. Seeing the horrible shadow of a sappy love scene looming on the horizon, Harry tried to get away. His plans were thwarted when The Author decided that any good fanfiction needs to have a scene where a sobbing girl tries to convince a guy who she really likes to stop cutting himself. "Fucking _shit_! Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!" Harry yelled, realizing that he was now stuck in a crappy love scene. "SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!"

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Ginny sobbed, clutching onto Harry's shirt. "Don't you know that there are people who love you?"

"Nobody could love me. I don't even love myself." Harry responded, not looking forward to the following series of dialogue. "Lots of people love you. People like…" Ginny said, still sobbing. "Like who?" Harry asked, the blood still coming out in huge waves from his arms. "Like…me," said Ginny in classic fanfiction-like fashion. "Jesus, Ginny, have some goddamn creativity once in a while! You know how many times this scene has been played over in fanfiction? Couldn't you say something like, 'oh yeah, that's right, nobody loves you, you should just go kill yourself' or something else like that? Why does me cutting always end up with you professing your love for me? It's situations like this that make me want to keep on cutting, but then I realize that it will just end up creating more unpleasant situations! My life is so confusing!" Harry yelled, degenerating into a whimpering pile of uncertainty. "And it doesn't help that you filled out in _all the right places_!"

Harry then took out his razor blade again and began cutting his thighs. Ginny just sort of walked away as Harry murmured, "Cutting is the only release from the crushing agony of life." Harry would have murmured more, but The Author ran out of ways he could express his angst. So Harry just sat in the brushed titanium, windowless hallway cutting himself.


	3. Chapter 3

After spending roughly one and a half weeks in that dismal hallway, doing nothing but cutting every inch of his body and mumbling vague suicide threats, Ron decided that something needed to be done about Harry. After all, it was rather awkward to have to walk by Harry every time he wanted to go to or get out of his room. It didn't help that Ginny was also an uncontrollable sobbing wreck who's cries could be heard throughout the house. And to top it off, Hermione had just arrived and she obviously hated him and would never want to go out with him ever because she hadn't passed him the butter at the breakfast table when he had asked for it. Overall, Ron surmised, his life sucked pretty fucking bad.

"Cutting will make it all better. The blades are my friends." Ron said out loud, now in his room sitting with a box of razor blades in his pale, thin hands. Slowly, he took out one of the blades and just sat there staring at it. "Nobody understands me. Nobody loves me. I'm alone in this ungodly parade of melancholy which is my life. Pain is my one true escape." Ron continued, shaking the hair out of his eyes for the hundredth time in as many minutes.

At this point, The Author was really starting to run out of ideas for depressing soliloquies (w00t! I used soliloquies in an actual sentence!). And he still had to write depressing dialogue for Hermione, as well as Ginny. "SHIT!" The Author screamed at his monitor, wondering why he was even writing this story in the first place if nobody was going to review it. Coughhintcoughreviewitcough. But then He took a hit of cocaine and was all better again.

Slowly, Ron took the blade up to his wrist. He let out a moan as the smooth metal cut into his soft flesh. Warm blood trickled out of the wound, slowly dripping off of his fingers and onto the floor. "SWEET! I AM SUCH AN EMO CUTTER!" Ron yelled. "LOOK AT ME WORLD! I AM DEPRESSED AND I CUT MYSELF AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" Well, he didn't actually say that, but he thought it. What he really said was, "This is what you have done to me, Hermione."

Just kidding.

He really didn't say anything. He just continued cutting, getting faster and faster until both arms were covered in humongous gashes and he was cutting away at the bone itself. Soon he realized that it would be more effective to cut somewhere were there were actual nerves. He brought the blade up to his cheekbone. Instead of cutting, this time he just stabbed himself repeatedly with it. The physical pain made him forget his emotional pain, which would be a good thing unless you lost control and stabbed your brain. Guess what? Ron stabbed his brain. Oops.

At this point Ron figured out what was going on and said the spell to repair his brain. This saved The Author of going through the painful process of figuring out which person should come in to find Ron's passed out bloody body and drop to their knees in despair.

Ron decided that he had done enough emo stuff for the day, so he want downstairs to go practice his broom-flying. While running down the stairs, he crashed into Hermione. Hermione was sent tumbling backwards and knocked her head on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. It would have made a great storyline if she had died, but to The Author's dismay she didn't, so now you've all got to look forward to more Hermione! Isn't that great? Don't we all just _love_ Hermione? Hermione this, Hermione that. Christ. Enough with the goddamn Hermione already. Gosh.

Ginny, meanwhile, was sitting in her room, listening to that new Green Day album. You gotta love that commercialized American "punk". It totally got her mind of the overwhelming desire of hers to fill her body out in all the right places even more than it already was. She knew that most males on the planet would probably die if she filled out in all the right places any more. As much fun as that would be, that would pretty much guarantee the extinction of the human race. So it turns out that Green Day albums are actually good for something! Who woulda thunk it? A bunch of emo fags churning out commercialized loser-punk actually did something positive for the world! As they say in Germany, "WTF!11".

The Author would like to add that reviews yelling at Him for dissing Green Day are totally acceptable and would in fact make great T-shirts. So go right ahead.

Hermione, after her near-death experience, decided to be a total trend-whore and start cutting herself. Soon realizing that she didn't have any razor blades and that banging her wrist on a table wasn't liable to do much damage, Hermione went up to Harry's "special cutting area" (hallway) to borrow some of his razor blades. However, she was feeling somewhat disoriented to due to her fun trip down the stairs, so she ended up walking in on Charlie in the shower. She was like, "OMG! HAX!" And then Charlie was totally like, "AHHHH WTF?" Overall, it was pretty hot. Charlie wasn't even trying to cover himself up. And Hermione, being the sheltered bookworm virgin that she is, couldn't stop looking.

About forty-five seconds later, Hermione realized what was going on and darted out of the room like mad. Now she _really_ needed a good wrist cutting. She ran around the house's confusing maze of corridors until she found Harry sobbing quietly to himself and cutting the soles of his feet. "Harry, I really need to borrow some razor blades. This is really important!" Hermione commanded, kicking Harry hard in the face. Harry just sobbed louder and tucked his box of razor blades in towards his stomach. "The pain…need to stop the pain…blackness" Harry mumbled, trying to get away from Hermione. "Goddamn it you moron, give me those fucking razor blades or I'm going to fucking CHOP YOUR NUTS OFF!" At the risk of losing his pride and joy, Harry reluctantly handed Hermione a single razor blade.

Now finally in possession of the one item in the world that was capable of stopping the unending cloud of blackness engulfing her soul, Hermione ran quickly to the nearest room. Unfortunately, she happened to stumble into the "Hippie room". The air was so thick with pot smoke it was hard to see, but Hermione thought she saw somebody playing the bongos and swaying to hippie music. As any normal person would, she got out of there as fast as humanly possible.

Because running away from the acrid stench of pot smoke now wafting slowly out of the open doorway, Hermione wasn't well aware of her surroundings. So it comes as no surprise that she ran into another leading HP character. Who could it be? Lupin? Malfoy? Fred or George? Rita Skeeter? A deranged hobo? -dramatic pause-

Find out in the next installment!


	4. Chapter 4

"Lupin?" Hermione yelped, stunned by his presence.

"Hermione?" Lupin exclaimed, stunned by Hermione's surprise at his presence. "My, you certainly have "grown" during the summer, if you catch my drift. Heh heh heh." Lupin continued, poking Hermione with his elbow and winking jauntily several times. "I barely recognized you, now that you have such big—" _whack._ Hermione kicked him swiftly in the nuts before he could finish his sentence.

"If you ever talk to me like that, I swear I'm going to fucking kill you and feed your eyeballs to the squirrels," Hermione snarled, glaring at Lupin's curled up body. "And then I'm going to hack your legs off and beat your mom to death with them, if she hasn't already died from being such a stupid fat loser……._in bed_," Hermione continued, unfairly bringing Lupin's mother into the "argument".

"Don't…ever…bring…up…my…mother's…skills…in…bed…-heavy breathing-…unless…you…have…a…death…wish," Lupin managed to sputter out, before continuing, "you…stupid…motherfuckingsonofabitch…whore." You could see the steam coming from Hermione's ears. Actually you couldn't, but it's a great metaphor.

"Oh no you didn't. You did not just do that," Hermione said, all of a sudden putting on her "negro" accent. "You want to fuck wit' me, white boy? I get my buddy Antoine to fuck you up _goooooood_." The Author then interrupted, pointing out that some famous dude once said, "It's not racism if it's the truth." Please don't be offended.

We now return to our regularly scheduled programming. –beep-

"Oh jesus, I'm getting out of the way of this bitch," Lupin said, before struggling to his feet and hobbling to the nearest window. After prying it open, he tumbled out and fell six stories. Injured, but not dead, he shook his fist at the open window. "You can take my balls, you can take my dignity, but you can NEVER TAKE AWAY MY FREEDOM!11eleven!1one!" With that he stumbled off towards his house, wherever that was.

It then occurred to Hermione that she didn't know why Lupin was there in the first place. She mulled this question over in her mind while walking to a room to do her wrist-slitting in. As she opened the door, the reason for Lupin's presence was immediately apparent.

There was Tonks, completely starkers, (that's two British words! All right!) laying on the bed with a satisfied look on her face. The look on her face immediately turned to shocked embarrassment as she tried to cover herself up. She didn't need to though; Hermione had turned around and began to run as fast as her caution taped, handcuffed pants would allow her, screaming. "Fucking shit! Fuck! Holy fuck! Oh dear god! Bloody hell!"

Indeed.

As Hermione was running away in a screaming frenzy, Tonks sat on the bed, embarrassed. Embarrassment quickly turned to depression as she read between the lines of Hermione's behavior. "Hermione obviously hates me. Why does she hate me? And why does Lupin hate me? Why does everybody run away from me? Am I really that ugly and stupid? God, I am the fattest bitch in the world. The world would be better off if I died." It was obvious that Tonks was having a bit of a breakdown, even to somebody who wasn't reading this fanfiction, because she had curled up in the fetal position and started sobbing uncontrollably.

Then the story took a crazy, unexpected turn. Tonks pulled out a razor blade from her "secret razor spot" and began to cut herself. This wasn't just any razor blade though. It was enchanted so that while cutting, it would temporarily relieve fifty percent more of the crushing pain engulfing her blackened soul like a fire than the leading competitor. The change was noticeable. Tonks stopped sobbing and instead broke out into joyous song after only a few minutes of wonderful wrist slitting. Thinking that all of her problems had been dealt with, Tonks stopped cutting. But a few minutes later, she again realized that she was a fat ugly whore whom everybody hated. She picked up her razor blade again and began to cut away the pain.

As you might have guessed, within a few minutes she was feeling better about herself. Once again she stopped cutting, and once again she began to have depressing, borderline suicidal thoughts. You can all see where this is going.

Because the Author was too unmotivated to write more about Tonks wonderful adventure (after all, this story isn't about Tonks, is it?) He decided to abruptly switch characters.

Ron at the present moment was having a good old fly on his broom. It was one of the new Nimbus superdeluxe!2000 brooms, which he was able to afford because of his minister-of-magic-father's ridiculously high salary. His beautiful long hair streamed behind him as he raced around the house at speeds approaching 250 mph. Pretty soon he got bored since there was nobody else around to play quidditch with, so he decided to land. Just as he stepped on the ground, a bomb unexpectedly appeared beneath his feet and detonated when he touched it. It didn't do much in the form of physical pain, but it really scared the shit right out of Ron.

Ginny soon came running out the door, her face still streaked with tears. "What happen?" she asked Ron.

"It appears as though somebody may have set up us the bomb!" Ron responded, gesturing angrily towards the humongous black scar on the lawn.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" Ginny yelled. Not because of the huge black hole in her lawn, but because a gigantic television labeled "main screen" had appeared in front of her. Then the screen began receiving signals. "We get signal!"

"What!" Ron asked, abso-fucking-lutely confused.

"Main screen turn on! It's you!" Ginny yelled, as Crookshanks appeared on the "main screen" and looked menacingly at Ginny. "Good evening, gentleman and madam. All your base are belong to us," Crookshanks stated calmly. "You have no chance to survive make your time."

Shit.


	5. Chapter 5

"What you say?" asked Ginny, confused by Crookshanks mastery of the English language.

"Let me repeat myself. You have no chance to survive make your time," Crookshanks responded, somewhat frustrated by Ginny's cluelessness. "I hope I don't need to explain myself further."

"That doesn't even make sense, you dumb cat! I'd think hanging around Hermione so much would improve your English skills, but I guess not!" Ron yelled angrily at the "main screen". "And my mom will be pissed when she finds out that somebody has set up us the bomb!" continued Ron, again gesturing angrily to the still smoldering charred lawn. "She'll think we've been attacked by death eaters!"

"Well, that is partially true. I was a Death Eater until your friend killed Voldemort. Now I'm going to kill you," Crookshanks stated calmly, pulling out a large assault rifle. Ginny, who had been struggling to understand the phrase "You have no chance to survive make your time" for the past series of dialogue, snapped to attention. First she started panicking. Then logic took hold. "You can't even shoot us through that screen!" she said.

"Drats, foiled again," Crookshanks said. "You humans are much to smart for me. I will let you survive, but I still suggest you make your time. Goodbye." Crookshanks started fading out, the "main screen" getting all static-y. Then, all of a sudden, the "main screen" dropped to the ground, exploding in a series of sparks. Then all was silent.

"Jesus, that really made me question my sanity. Where did I put that razor?" Ron said suddenly, dropping to his knees and feeling around on the grass for his razor blade. "I put it in my pocket, but it must have fallen out. Ginny, help me look for it!" Ginny also began the search for Ron's precious piece of metal. A few minutes later, Ginny jumped to her feet. "Hurrah! The blade is mine!" she yelled triumphantly, running back into the house for a good long emo session.

"Oh no you don't bitch!" Ron yelled, running after her. "I need that! Harry won't give me another one!" he continued, before tripping and smashing his face into the porch steps. "Drats, she's gotten away. Why is my life so horrible? I can't take it anymore!"

The story slowly transitioned back to Harry as Ron began banging his wrist against the very dull porch steps in a worthless attempt to cut, cut, cut away the pain…..

Harry, after being (very rudely) kicked in the face by Ginny and forced to give her one of his precious blades, decided he had done enough moping around in that hallway and dragged his sorry ass back up to his room. Because he hadn't eaten anything in well over a day, he decided to dig into his secret stash of sugary snacks that he kept under the loose floorboard in his room. Dismay followed as Harry came to the unfortunate realization that this was not his fucking room. The urge to cut his wrists was once again upon him, but he pushed the thought out of his head the same way a crazy person would push a physically handicapped person down the stairs. That is, with lots of force.

Now casting his eyes around the room looking for something to do, his eyes fell upon the computer in the corner. Harry had extremely limited experience with computers, but he knew that if you pushed some buttons and clicked the mouse a few times, some extremely arousing pictures would come up. He knew this because Dudley was very stupid and very often forgot to close his door when he did this unmentionable business. So, Harry walked eagerly over to the computer.

Turning the damn freakin' thing on was an adventure in itself. Harry must have pushed every bottom on the cock-suckin' thing at least a hundred freakin' times. Finally, he could get started. Again, he had trouble getting connected to the internet, but the help file (which was obviously designed for elderly people) sorted him out a bit.

We can all imagine Harry's dismay when typing into the "go" bar yielded a page with the message "Net Nanny has found this site unsuitable and it has been blocked. The URL has been recorded in the log file." Oh, was Harry steaming. You could see his fist getting ready to pound the poor monitor (which had done absolutely nothing wrong) into a million fucking pieces.

Instead, he decided to play some internet games, which was the only other thing that Dudley ever did on the internet. He had on occasion watched Dudley play this moronic game called Runescape, so he decided to check it out. After going to the main site and creating his character (who knew that the names HarryPotter1 thru HarryPotter1337 would all be taken?) he started out on the tutorial. Harry thought the game was utterly mindless, but it was strangely compelling. The magic system was entertaining to play with just because of how hilariously inaccurate it was. The guys who made the game obviously had no idea what "Runes" really were.

Harry pried his eyes away from the game long enough to glance at the clock. "HOLY FUDGE NUGGETS!" Harry yelled, after seeing that it was three in the morning. However, his mind was quickly drawn back to the game, and all concept of time was lost within the tortured, squishy depths of his addicted brain.

Fast forward five days. Now go back two days, ahead 178 hours, back 760 minutes, ahead a week, and back five days. Now that you've done your math homework, back to the story.

Harry was slumped over the keyboard and mouse like a Neanderthal, saliva dripping from his gaping mouth, five days of unshaven facial hair covering the lower half of his face. The air around Harry smelled like a sewer and his eyes stared drunkenly at the computer screen, where HarryPotter92482158183490 (that was the shortest name Harry could get), clad in some green pixel-armor, went from killing one random shapeless blob to the next. "Must get to attack level 67…then I'll gain a combat levelargggghhhhhhh….full rune...blearghh….." Harry slurred, his sanity fading quickly. "Fishing level's only 41……Port sarim…..unh bleaaaggg…salmoarrrrrrgh"

Ron, who had been hitting his wrist against every available surface for the entire duration of Harry's Runescape playing, walked into Harry's room looking for some sharp objects that would cut his wrists more efficiently. Upon laying his eyes on Harry's haggard, half-lifeless form, he let out a yell. After screaming for a while, he went over to Harry and tried to pry him off the chair. As if Harry's ass being stuck to the seat with days and days of excrement wasn't enough, Harry was extremely resistant to leaving Runescape. Harry didn't even know what the log out button was because he had never used it, but even if he had known about it he still wouldn't have left his seat.

"No Ron, you fuckerrr...aarggh….I have to get to level 67….humf….blearrrrrhhhhhhhgg……noooo…. I am HarryPotter92482158183490…I could own you in the….araghh…wildy… any day." At this point Harry's brain finally gave out on him, and he thought no more. As the story faded out to blackness, The Author lamented on the fact that Harry, poor Harry, had spent an entire page without cutting himself. The Author would also like to take this time to mention that if you are addicted to Runescape, please contact your Runescapers Anonymous group immediately. You don't want to end up like Harry.

Poor, poor Harry.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry turned out to be more difficult to carry down the stairs then Ron expected. Of course, Ron's arms were weak from all the self-harming and in his current state he would probably have difficulty lifting a pencil. Harry was also struggling mightily, trying to get back to the life-providing Runescape. For the first time in a while, Harry felt the urge to cut himself. It was like breaking up with a girlfriend, and any emo reading this would know that having your girlfriend break up with you is probably the worst thing that can happen to you, even worse than your mom neglecting to take you to the mall so you can get some Panic! At the Disco or My Chemical Romance T-shirts.

To sum things up, Harry was borderline suicidal, so naturally he wanted to get back to the game which was his razor blade (metaphorically, of course. If the metaphor was over your head, I'm saying that Harry was using Runescape to take away his inner anguish). Ron managed to get him to the foot of the stairs where, with the assistance of a couple members of his extended family, Ron succeeded in tying Harry up. As an afterthought Ron kicked Harry in the nuts a few times, because no good fanfiction is complete without gratuitous kicking the nards, right? Damn straight.

"Your…hair…is…ugly…" Harry managed to sputter out, trying to insult Ron into letting him go. "What did you say?" Ron asked in a hurt voice, his face contorted into a position of anguish. "I said….your hair….looks…stupid." Harry responded, although it was hard to believe that he was conscious at all after the vicious kicking in the nuts he had received just thirty seconds prior.

"Wow, this Author guy thinks he can make this story funnier by quoting the movie Anchorman. That's as bad as quoting Napoleon Dynamite," Ron suddenly said, completely forgetting the previous paragraph of dialogue.

"HEY!" The Author boomed, yelling from some distant place that neither Ron or Harry could see. "QUOTING ANCHORMAN HAS MADE THIS STORY FUNNIER MORE THAN YOU TWO GUYS EVER COULD!" The Author continued, "GOD TINA, YOU FAT LARD! EAT YOUR HAM!"

"Quoting Napoleon Dynamite didn't help either. Screw this, I'm going to go eat something. Screw you all." Ron responded, now walking casually to the kitchen and giving the middle finger to the sky. The Author resisted the tempting opportunity to mash Ron's personality into the ground by making him speak in Haikus for the rest of the story, and instead just decided to leave his computer and go cut himself because he didn't get any valentines and has no friends oh god why does my life suck so much why does everybody hate me nobody ever reviews this story what's the point of living I hate my life!

Because The Author was no longer a presence in Harry Potter world, nothing at all happened for the fifteen minutes He was slitting his wrists. In fact, the paragraph you're reading now doesn't even exist because nobody's here to type it. It's just a figment of your imagination, produced by some broken pixels on your monitor and a strong desire to read some more of this awesome story.

Okay, I'm done cutting now. On with the story.

Tonks was going insane. First cutting, then anorexia (don't ask), then beating up first years, then becoming a professional wrestler. Her brain was in a state of confusion and anguish 100 of the time. Occasionally her sanity completely snapped and she'd do something stupid like watch an entire episode of Oprah or even go so far as to listen to rap. Her family would have been concerned about her, but they were all killed by Voldemort (back when he was still alive). She had nobody left in the world. Except for Lupin, of course, but she had temporarily forgotten about him to make herself as horribly emo as possible.

Then, quite possibly the worst thing to ever happen in the entire universe ever happened.

Tonks bought a Simple Plan CD.

At the time of this horrific incident, Ginny had been sitting in her room listening to the spice girls. All of a sudden her emodar went off, and a huge alarm activated in her head. She had sudden visions of Tonks walking into a CD store, picking out the most emo-sounding Simple Plan CD she could find, and purchasing it. She immediately fell to the floor in a seizure, her brain unable to comprehend why _anybody_, even an insane emo person, would buy a Simple Plan CD.

At Simple Plan's horrible, dark headquarters twenty miles below the city of Orlando, an alarm also went off. This was a different alarm though, and it wasn't just a figment of their horribly tortured minds. "We just sold our two millionth CD!" yelled the leader of Simple Plan, who's name isn't relevant. "Wow, my life sucks!" he added, whipping out an industrial-sized crate of razor blades and jumping into it. "Oh, world, look what you've made me do oh god nobody understands me why does everybody hate me my girlfriend is a stupid bitch because she broke up with me and I need to commit suicide!" What proceeded afterwards was too grotesque to be described with Human words, but a more poetic individual might have called it a "Razor orgy".

If Tonks had been aware of how much pain she was causing, she might have snapped out of her emo-ness (at least temporarily). Instead, she listened to her new CD over and over. "These people understand all the pain I go through, even though they have millions of dollars. I think I'm going to slit my wrists now" Tonks said out loud, not really paying attention to Lupin's anguished cries as he tried to get back into the house through a window. "My life sucks so bad oh god my mom is such a bitch she won't take me to the mall so I can get more scarves and black-rimmed glasses why does my life suck so much oh god I'm going to write a crappy song with my acoustic guitar!"

Tonks whipped out her acoustic guitar and played one of the two chords she knew. "Oh god my life sucks/The pain never stops/There's no end to the blackness/The razor caresses my flesh." She sang, playing the one other chord she knew halfway through. It continued on in this vein for some time. Tonks would alternate chords while singing the same emo crap about razors and pain over and over.

"Wow, I should be able to get a record deal. I'm just that awesome. And it wouldn't even take effort to sell my CDs because those flock-like emos will buy anything with a picture of a razor blade on it,." She said out loud again, despite the fact that nobody was around to hear her.

Wait. Scratch that. Lupin just burst in the door.

Tonks sat in stunned silence for a while. Then she asked, "What in the great name of god happened to your face?" Lupin didn't really respond because his face was nothing but a spongy, muddy ruin. He sort of fell over, his figure silhouetted by the light pouring in from the door (Tonks had turned the lights off in her room to compliment the darkness in her soul). However, his fall was not dramatic at all and, to be perfectly honest, it was more like a crumple.

Tonks didn't even get up to check if he had any vital signs or anything. She began cutting vigorously, teeth clenched and eyes squeezed shut. "Aaarrrrgggghhhh! Unnnhhhhhh!" she yelled out as the little rectangle of metal softly engraved red lines of relief into her pale, pallid skin. "AAAAAAARRRRHHHHHHH! MY LIFE SUCKS! RAAAAUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHH!"

The Author thought that Tonks was about to lose it, so he sort of left the area before she freaked out even more. He went over to check how Hermione was doing.

Thankfully, at the present moment Hermione was not cutting her wrists. This struck the author as spectacular because almost everything in this entire freakin' story eventually leads to cutting in one way or another. This is often because The Author can't write anything that's funny on its own merit, so he has to make fun of emos to make people laugh. The Author thought he would point this out before somebody decides to take the piss out on him (three British words!).

Hermione, at the present moment, was chugging mountain dew and mulling over the Hogwarts letter she had just received. She was head girl. Wow, surprise. Hermione had read enough fanfiction to know that the chances of her getting head girl were about 95. She didn't know who the head boy was, but she suspected it would be Draco Malfoy, even though everybody knew he was a death eater. How were Hermione and Draco supposed to get in a relationship if they didn't share a dormitory together? And how was Draco supposed to pour out his soul and confess to Hermione that he had been satanically abused by his father and then collapse crying onto her shoulder while she comforted him and confessed of her own tortured childhood? How was any of that shit supposed to happen if Draco wasn't head boy?

Hermione didn't know that Draco was dead. As one may remember from the first chapter, he had disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke. "Disappeared" isn't the right word though. More like "brutally massacred". He gave the appearance of disappearing because he had blown up into so many small pieces. The "purple cloud" was actually a fine mist of blood. So, his chances of being head boy, which were already low, were right now pretty much zero.

At the same time Hermione was reading her Hogwarts letter, Ron had received his. He opened it up and a small piece of metal clanked out of the envelope and onto the floor.

"HOLY SHIT!"


	7. Chapter 7

"HOLY SHIT!" Ron yelled, his eyes bugging out and his mouth agape.

There, on the linoleum floor, lay a single, small, piece of metal that would change his life forever. He picked it up off the floor and hugged it to him dearly. "If my mum saw you, she would totally freak out. This is our little secret." The little piece of metal gave absolutely no response. "Wouldn't this be a horrible time for that loser Author guy to switch to a different charact—"

Hermione was getting awfully twitchy from all that Mountain Dew. The head girl notice, plus the 5000 mg's of caffeine flooding through her veins this very instant, had made her extremely jittery as well as causing the complete shutdown of the portion of her brain that was devoted to reason. "Man, another twenty-four pack of Mountain Dew sounds really good right now," said Hermione, getting up to walk over to the refrigerator which she had gotten placed in her room for the sole purpose of storing Mountain Dew. Upon retrieving her refreshing beverage(s), she closed the door of the fridge. However, because she was so strung out on caffeine, her natural instinct to get her countless pant-chains out of the way of the door was gone completely from her mind. The door closed right on one of these chains, trapping her next to the fridge.

"No problem, I'll just open the door again," Hermione thought (or as close to thinking as one can get when they've drunken roughly 650 cans of Mountain Dew). This course of action didn't work as exactly as planned. The door was stuck on her chain, and seemed to be wedged pretty good. No matter how hard she pulled (which wasn't hard, considering she had been cutting for pretty much the entire story) the freakin' door would just not freakin' open. Hermione reluctantly dropped the Dew and reached in one of her numerous gigantic pockets for her wand. "Shit."

Hermione saw with dismay that she had left her wand on the table, which was all the way on the side of her room. She hadn't mastered wandless magic enough to retrieve it, although you can damn well bet she gave it the good ol' college try. "Accio wand! Accio wand! Accio wand! Accio fucking wand! Garrrrggghhhh!" she yelled out in a vain attempt to save herself. This obviously failed to work (I wouldn't be typing this sentence if it hadn't, duh) so she resorted to plan B: kick the holy living fuck out of the refrigerator. She would make it take its medicine! That damn little pup!

After five minutes of ferocious kicking, after which the fridge showed no signs of weakening, Hermione began to scream hysterically. "Goddamn it all! Jesus fucking Christ! Aarrrggh!" She began to cry like an emo. Huge emo-tears began to stream down her face and she started whining and stomping her feet on the floor like a little kid. "I hate my life this refrigerator is such a bitch god why does my life suck so much? Waaaahhhhhhhh!"

Suddenly a large booming voice seeming to come from everywhere at the same time startled her into silence. "You're not an emo, you stupid bitch. You're a Goth, and Goths don't cry. Put your indifference-face on!" the owner of the booming voice commanded. Hermione realized the large disembodied voice was right. She was a _Goth_, goddamn it, and she was going to treat this situation with _indifference_.

So, Hermione just stood there. She stared vacantly at the wall, trying to erase all emotion from her head. She tried to twist around her situation enough so that all that was present in her mind was a thick black wall of blank emotion. However, much to the dismay of The Author, Hermione's current state resulted in an almost complete lack of action. The Author didn't want to keep having to describe Hermione's emotional state to keep things interesting, so he decided to switch to a more exciting character.

Ginny was pretty pissed off. She hadn't been in the previous chapter at all, except when Tonks had committed that horrible deed that The Author will not allow to be put into writing ever again. Ginny was a little sore from her seizure, but right now she was pretty ticked off at the lack of attention she had been receiving, especially from a certain Raven-haired boy with Emerald eyes and, uh….hmmmm…..and……cough..I'm all out of metaphors here. Damn.

In short, Harry was only paying attention to himself and no longer was fantasizing about her. She had begun to dress like a total bulimic slut to impress him, but he hadn't seen her for days so the effect was negligible. Just when she thought she was going to have to make her skirt another inch shorter and her top another two sizes tighter, and roll into his room on a unicycle, he came into her room, a little bow-legged because of the punishment his nads had received. Apparently he was missing his "Runescape", whatever the fuck that was. "Runescape…. ess 25 gp each….." he slurred like a drunk. Ginny wasn't really paying attention. She was jumping up and down, waving her arms, trying to get him to notice how hot she was. "Look at me! I've filled out in all the right places. You can see my nipples! Look at me! Look at me, you goddamned retard!"

Harry stumbled back out of the room once he saw that Ginny didn't have a freakin' idea what Runescape was. Ginny was left jumping up and down like a moron. "Oh fucking Jesus, I hate men. I mean, how could you not resist these?" Ginny said, motioning to her chest region. "Fucking ass-balls."

Ginny turned and opened up her closet. Inside was her special shrine, devoted to the one and only Satan. Swastikas, pentagrams, and skulls were drawn childishly all over the place in spooky glow-in-the-dark paint. Hermione would have loved it. Ginny began to do her "Love" incantation. She raised her arms in the air, a skull in one hand and a box of valentine chocolates in the other. She began garbling random shit and she started having convulsions. Weird pictures of hell and dripping candle wax filled her brain. For a love incantation, this was pretty unusual (the book said to expect immense feelings of euphoria, not random satanic hallucinations) but she kept pushing forward. The large pentagrams on the wall and floor began to glow blood red. All the candles went out at once. Ginny dropped the objects from her hands and fell to the floor, unconscious. Her final thought was, "If this shit doesn't work, we can always try those padded bras."

The Author walked clumsily over to where Ginny lay passed out, the drawings on the wall still pulsating a dull red. He rarely occupied his human form except in emergencies, so naturally he had forgotten somewhat how to walk. This was definitely a goddamn emergency. He hadn't intended for her to go that far. It just shows how sometimes Authors can lose control of their characters if they've been smoking too much pot.

"Fucking Jesus, if I've told her once, I've told her a thousand times, no more Satan worshipping. But does the bitch listen? Nooooooo," The Author said angrily, nudging Ginny's body with his toe. She seemed fine, save the large pentagrams mysteriously carved all over her face and shoulders. "She already knows how to do a fucking love spell, why does she need Satan to do it for her? I hate women."

To avoid Ginny after she woke up from her current state (she got pretty testy after her satanic rituals. It was like PMS times, like, a gazillion) the Author went back into his ethereal form and switched characters abruptly like He always does.

Ron stared at the wall in his room, not really seeing anything. He was enveloped in his own confused thoughts. A part of him wanted to go steal a pair of Ginny's pants to wear, listen to Fall Out Boy, complain about not getting another iPod, write a song about how much his mom was a bitch, and stomp around the house and cry and whine, before ending the day with some nice wrist slashing. All the other part of his brain wanted to do was avoid the part of his mind that was covered in emo. This resulted in hatred of his emo-ness. He had no idea what to do. So he went to do what any emo would do in this situation. He went on AIM to talk to his emo friends in the states.

Ron walked quickly over to the computer in his room and turned it on. He waited impatiently for it to start up and then logged onto AIM. He saw that 39 of his emo buddies were on, which meant a lot of people to listen to your whining. He chose one of them at random and began to barrage him with messages. "God i hate my life i'm gonna end it all tonite. my mom woud'nt take me 2 the mlal to get more wllet chains and a new ipod. i hate my life my mom's such a bitch i wish i wuold just die." The other random emo guy responded with some obviously insincere comments about how much everybody would miss him if he killed himself. In real life, the emo on the other side was secretly hoping that Ron would kill himself.

You know, this made Ron feel a whole hell of a lot better. Pouring out his inner concerns and worries really helped him. Sure, he was a neurotic loser. And sure, he was a fucking emo. And sure, he had had sex with Mexican immigrants on a regular basis. But none of that matters when you pour out your soul, either in beautiful poetry or AIM conversations (a form of beautiful poetry in itself).

None of it matters.

Well, except being emo. That matters a whole fucking ton. Oops, ruined the mood. Oh, darn.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione was still stuck to that fucking fridge. Her brain cells were working exceptionally quickly that day because of the caffeine, but she honestly had no idea what the fuck she should do. If only she could listen to some Slipknot…then the power of the Mallcore gods would be bestowed upon her and she could figure out what to do. The only music she could hear, though, was that damn ice cream truck going back and forth on the street outside despite the fact that there were no kids to be seen. I mean, WTF!11!1one?

All of a sudden, Hermione had a brilliant idea. Take off the pants, then she would be free. But, she though, the Author was watching, and she didn't want to take her pants off in front of Him. "Look away, idiot! I'll be indecent here for a little while!" The Author pretended to look away but watched out of the corner of his eye. That pervert.

Freed from the fridge that she thought would control from the rest of her life, Hermione ran to her room to stare blankly at the wall and listen to Atreyu and other similar metalcore bands, as well as put on another chain/caution tape-adorned pair of black, saggy pants. This didn't leave many opportunities for humorous situations unless the Author decided to thrown in something random (which he _certainly_ hadn't been doing the entire story) so he decided to focus on the character who this story is supposed to be about. Harry Potter.

Harry's life had taken an abrupt, unexpected change.

He no longer cared about Runescape.

Harry thought it might have something to do with the fact that The Author had deemed the subject as "unfunny" (and had even told him so in a letter) but Harry also thought that it had to do with his maturation as a character.

In fact, the former is the correct one. I, as the Author, get complete control over whether something is capable of retaining its humor value or not. Runescape was no longer funny, and as such it was terminated. Emos, however, are still a hoot.

His sudden distaste for Runescape left Harry free to do other, more exciting things. He decided to take from his wrist slitting to go buy some emo clothes down at the village. They had some pretty sweet t-shirts at the kid's clothing store, so he bought the smallest size they had and jammed one of them on. It ripped in a few places, but it was really vintage and retro. Or so he thought.

Really, he just looked like a retard. As he walked back through the village, he was honestly surprised when old and young people alike ran away from him in terror. Babies in their mother's arms burst in tears as he came by. The mothers themselves fled, even abandoning their babies to get away from the horrible emo sight in front of them. Harry thought it was because he was so vintage and non-conformist that they just couldn't take it. Even if this self-concept wasn't inherently flawed (which it was) he still would have been wrong.

To make a long story (well, okay, it wouldn't be that long) short, mobs of villagers with pitchforks and torches drove him out of the city like some sort of freak. It would have made a perfect movie scene, were it not for the fact that there was no known cameraman who would subject their cameras to the torture of capturing Harry's horrible emo form on film. "Wow, I must be really retro if they want me out so bad. Silly conformists can't handle my out-of-control style," Harry thought, again trapped in the web of misconceptions and untruths which were his thoughts. "The eyeliner must have really shocked them".

Harry found himself back at the Burrow. For the first time, like, EVER, he saw Ron's dad. He had changed. Now that he was MINISTER OF MAGIC!1! he was all different. Firstly, he had a stylish new hairstyle (which most trendy American teens like to call a comb-over) and was sporting some classy sunglasses. He was wearing a chalk-white tuxedo and by all accounts was completely blinged-out. A limousine was parked outside the house and Arthur was just getting into it as Harry walked up. For whatever reason, Arthur seemed to panic and urge his driver to speed away. Harry was completely unaware of why he had done this, although any observers (had they stuck around long enough to actually observe something) would have immediately recognized the look of repulsion on Arthur's face as the emo freak walked closer to him.

Harry, who decided not to worry about Arthur right now, walked confidently back into the house. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) he had stepped into the midst of angry Ginny. She had woken up from her coma-like state extremely pissed. Not only had her love incantation completely fucked up, but she had spent an entire ten galleons on that skull and now it was fucking broken. The jaw had completely snapped off when she dropped it and now it looked stupid. Oh, how Ginny's life sucked.

So, when Harry stepped into Ginny's presence, which everybody had so carefully avoided by that point, there was hell to pay. Her anger was not specifically directed at Harry, but she really just needed to beat the holy tar out of something. Harry, in his attempt to run away, ripped his shirt completely off and watched his glasses fall off and get stomped by the angry shoes of Ginny. "No! People may get the impression that my life is okay even though it's not! I need those glasses!" Harry thought before getting slammed in the stomach with a fist. Now on the ground, Harry was assaulted with a barrage of kicks and thrown kitchen utensils. Harry, unlike most emos, was NOT enjoying this pain. He was pissed. Had Ginny been in her right mind, she may have realized that pounding the shit out of Harry would not make him want to go out with her more. But it felt so good to throw a blender at him.

Harry soon passed out, resigned to the fate that he would probably be beaten into a coma. As soon as he stopped responding, Ginny stopped the attack. She was back to normal for the time being. She looked uninterestedly upon Harry's bloody, mangled carcass, and walked back up to her room to admire herself in her mirror like she did when she had nothing else to do.

Harry woke up to that long-haired werewolf hippy freak Bill slapping his face. "What are you, gay or something?" Harry yelled. "I don't need any fucking stoner hippy slapping my face like a pansy. I'm fine." Bill looked a little saddened, but he got off and went quietly back to his secret marijuana greenhouse. "I was just trying to help…" Bill said before closing the door on his veritable forest of marijuana.

There was a brief pause in the action as writing that last sentence had given the Author an extreme craving for some hashbrownies. Harry took this time to catch up on his staring-off-into-nothingness. The Author resumed his seat at the computer, licking his fingers, and the action began to pick up again.

"Man, I really should go to one of those rave parties. I could get high on ecstasy and have people wave glow-sticks in my face. That would be so totally sweet." Harry thought randomly. "And then I could jump off a balcony into a crowd of people and die. Rad." Harry decided to take a train to London and attend one of these rave parties. This left the Author with a decision which he was ill-prepared for: which character do we focus on now? And when do we actually get to Hogwarts?


	9. Chapter 9

"A crumple-horned snorkack! OMG I must catch it!"

Wait…is that who I think it is….?

Now, let's see…what the hell is Luna doing in this story? She has got to be one of the hardest characters to work with. Well, I can always pass her off as a drug-addicted hippy…or she could turn into an anorexic slut-whore…anything else would seem contrived and out of character…

Shit! I've been thinking out loud again! -ahem-

Luna was having a great time running around in the woods looking for imaginary creatures that only existed in her mind. A mind which, in fact, was completely zapped on LCD she had gotten from her dad. Just like most of the time. Luna's perception of the world was hideously warped; she truly thought trees were purple because that's how she always saw them.

So, naturally, she always did crazy shit that no normal person would do unless offered large sums of money. Screw money, Luna would pay out of her own pocket to jump into a kiddie-pool full of manure like they did on TV. Chasing around imaginary creatures was actually one of the more tame activities she did during the summer; she had actually killed an elderly person during one of her LCD-induced grenade throwing rampages. Boy, had the shit hit the fan after that. Now she had to visit this stupid police officer every day in this stupid program called "parole". How gay was that? I mean, come on, why should she waste an hour of her time visiting this queer police officer who just sat around and ate donuts and couldn't care less if she went out and threw some grenades at parked cars or people?

"Fucking Jesus. Those muggles were a stupid bunch. The next thing you know, they'll have come up with a television programme that features people in competitive dancing." Luna thought, pausing her imaginary quest for the crumple-horned snorkack. "Well, Luna, I've got a surprise for you…" the Author said in His authoritative, booming, omnipresent voice. "There was somebody stupid enough to create a show like that…and people actually watch that infernal piece of garbage!"

Well, this didn't really help Luna's mood at all. She ripped the turnip earrings right off her ears and chucked them at the sky, where she imagined the Author to be situated. Technically, the Author _was_ there, but since he was everywhere it was a rather small victory for Luna. "If you don't stop butting into _my_ story I'm going to punch YOUR FUCKING BALLS OFF!" Luna yelled toward the sky.

"Actually, this isn't even your story. It's Harry Potter's. And he seems to be a much more agreeable character than you. I think I'll switch the action to him now," The Author responded, walking away from Luna (or walking towards, since He was everywhere).

"Oh no you don't! You will not cut me o—"

Harry was now in London. For the past four hours, he had been wandering the dismal, rainy back streets looking for a rave to attend. At the present moment, he was behind a shitty poor-person apartment complex, standing in a pile of cardboard boxes, with rats crawling all over his feet, looking for any sort of drug-party. There had been a sign pointing him in this direction, but then again, most of London was just a gigantic hologram, so it could have been lying.

Harry was feeling a bit queasy from all the shitty London air he was inhaling, so he started hallucinating and talking to the rats. "Any of you muthafukkas know where I could find a rave? I really need an Ecstasy fix. This really isn't funny at all. For serious. I…fucking…need…ecstasy…or I….might…start cutting myself! Urrrrggggggghhhhh!" Harry said to the rats (who truly didn't seem to be paying much attention) before whipping out the razorblade he kept stashed behind his ear. He drew upside-down crosses and skulls up and down his forearm, bemoaning his horrible life and sobbing huge, black tears. "AAAAAAAARRRRRGHHHHH! I'M SO EMO! WAAAAAHHHHH!111!one!" Harry started stomping up and down like a baby, which got the rat's attention. They attacked.

After a few minutes of being bitten everywhere by rabid, pissed off rats, Harry managed to stumble down into a subway station to distract the rats with more people. As the rabid, foaming rats went after countless innocents, some random blinged out white guy (is this what British people call a Chav?) pushed Harry in front of an incoming subway train. PWNT.

With Harry now out of the picture, the dude pulled off his huge baggy articles of clothing to reveal his true identity: Lord Voldemort.

Wait. He's already dead. That can't be right…shuffling papers…okay! The true identity of this murderer is: Parvati! OMG!

Parvati began laughing her, sick, twisted, Hindu laugh. "HAHAHAHAH! HARRY POTTER HAS BEEN DESTROYED AT LAST! HE SUCKED AT DANCING!" she yelled to everybody in the entire subway station, who all stopped what they were doing and froze comically. Parvati glanced around quickly, and then ran into one of the bathrooms.

"God why does everybody hate me I hate my life I'm going to wear thick-rimmed glasses and Taking Back Sunday T-shirts." Parvati said through thick black emo tears, sitting in one of the cubicles. "I'll show them all…" she continued, pulling out a razor blade from one of the many folds in her native Indian robe thingy. She slowly began to scrape the razor across her wrist, just making shallow cuts (if you could call them that) that would show everyone how bad her life sucked. "Grrrrnnnnnnhhhhhh…nnnnnnnhhhhhhh…my life is an endless carnival of tears…." Parvarti choked out, her words garbled by the crying and her stupid British accent. It doesn't matter that Parvati wasn't even drawing blood; this would show everybody how much their teasing and bullying had warped her psyche.

Padma came in to check on her sister, only because her parents made her. Upon finding Parvati in one of the cubicles scraping herself with a razor, Padma whipped out her patented "Counseling Plank". It was a 2X4 with the word "counseling" written on it, worn down from years of heavy use. Padma violently beat her sister with this piece of wood until she wasn't moving (or breathing, for that matter). The theory was that Parvati, when she woke up (which wasn't likely), would no longer be an emo. The few cases where people had survived the Counseling Plank were all positive; despite the loss of 50-75 of their brain cells, they're all serving on President Bush's cabinet (ooooh, _burn_). After this brutal counseling session Padma just sort of wandered away, tripping often on her Indian toga-or-whatever. Somebody would come take Parvati to the hospital _eventually_.

But Harry wasn't really dead. We couldn't let our title character die, could we? We haven't even gotten to all the funny shit he could be doing at Hogwarts (provided The Author ever gets there). Presently, Harry was at the Burrow and cramming his face with Twinkies. Ron came in and asked to have some of Harry's Twinkies, which is also a code term for the male genitalia. Harry grabbed some Twinkies out of the huge crate of them he had and held them out to Ron, but all Ron would do was gesture to his crotch and do pelvic thrusts. This prompted Harry to run away immediately. Ron grabbed some lotion and tissues and went into the bathroom for 15 minutes, but nobody for the life of them could figure out what he was doing in there. They probably figured he was chugging lotion as a form of self-harm or something crazy like that.

Hermione hadn't been doing much for the past chapter. The mountain dew binge had had horrible after-effects. Namely, Hermione was passed out on the floor in a puddle of bright green vomit, the chains on her pants wrapped up all around her. It looked like she was doing some bondage role-playing with herself. Suddenly there was a huge explosion.

Okay, a cliffhanger. Now you will be forced to read my story!


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur-the-minister-of-magic-for-no-reason's first thought was, "Shit! I didn't know "explosive" meant "capable of causing explosions"! I would never have kicked the propane tank if I had known that!" Then he was thrown 100 metres (British spelling!) and landed in a ditch full of broken glass, sustaining enough cuts to make even the most hardcore emo kid wince. To make matters worse, a truck full of salt crashed right on top of him. "Well, at least there's no lemon juice." Arthur thought prematurely, before some asshole kid tossed a gallon of lemonade on him. Back at the house, as Arthur writhed in agony, Hermione was just waking up from her Mountain Dew induced unconsciousness.

The room Hermione was in had incurred some significant structural damage. Hermione, luckily, knew the spell to fix problems like this. Hermione also, unluckily, was too fat and lazy to actually perform the spell. And she was confined in the chains attached to her pants that had previously just confined her personality. So she just lay there on the ground, unmoving and unthinking, as the rest of the house panicked.

Ginny had been admiring herself in the mirror, pondering the mathematical proportions of her body (just kidding!), when the explosion happened. She didn't even bother using logical thought processes in her reaction. "TERRORISTS! TERRORISTS! OH EM GEE! WE'RE BEING ATTACKED BY OSAMA BIN LADEN!111!one!tilde!11!1" screamed Ginny, running around the house, her distorted, terror-stricken face being clawed by her fingernails. In her panicked disorientation, she accidentally ran into Oprah, who, despite being all the way in Chicago, was so fat that she was actually right in the yard. This freaked Ginny out more than terrorists ever could, and she ripped off all of her clothes for whatever reason. We're getting to the good stuff now.

Completely naked (or starkers, for you Britons out there), Ginny resumed her running around the house. Certain parts of her anatomy were bouncing crazily in all directions. Harry, who was back from his twinkie binge that had ballooned his weight to 150 pounds (he was anorexic, don't you know), was fortunately right in the path of Ginny's "panic dance". She ran smack into him, and the next thing you know Ginny was just laying on top of Harry, who didn't seem too troubled by it. When they started making out, fireworks literally started going off right above them, which caused even more structural damage to the house. Then Harry broke away, leaving Ginny alone and hurt. "No! This will never work! It's too dangerous to get close to me because you'll just get hurt! I can't let this start again!" Harry yelled. Ginny's face melted from a hurt to an angry expression. "BUT I LOVE U!1 I'M A WREKC WITHOUT U!1 UR A STUPID PRAT I JUST WANT TO BE WITH U AND WE CAN HAVE LITTLE RED HAIRED KIDS WITH GREEN EYES!111!" It was at this point that Ginny began attacking Harry.

Harry wasn't fussed about it, because Ginny was naked, until she brought out the shotgun. She aimed it at Harry and pulled the trigger like a madman (or a madwoman, for all you militant feminists out there). Of course, the title character couldn't die, so the gun didn't have any ammo. Still, Harry was mad, so he decided to break out the secret that he had been harboring since fourth year.

"I'm a Shadow Ninja who is a direct descendant of Godric Gryffindor and I can throw knives and jump off walls and do other cool muggle ways of fighting and I've been training with Professor Lupin who is also a Ninja and that's how I'm going to fight Voldemort and I'm dark and mysterious and I have this cool headband thing so I don't suggest that you fuck with me."

"But Harry, Voldemorts already dead," Ginny pointed out gently. Then a fabulous realization dawned on her. "That means you can be my boyfriend and we can make out every other paragraph!" Ginny began bouncing up and down happily, and Harry was rendered incapable of forming a response. Luckily, Ron, who was back from the bathroom, came into the hallway about that time.

"I'm going to kill you because you hurt my sister. Nobody hurts my sister." Ron said before lunging at Harry with a muffin tin. Harry used his super-secret Ninja powers to jump out of the window that was right there and grab on to a ledge and go around the house and come back behind Ron and break his neck. While a paralyzed, internally bleeding Ron was being tended to by his still-naked sister, Harry wandered out of the picture.

Neville was just walking innocently past the house when he looked in one of the windows and saw green sticky stuff all over the walls. His curiosity got the best of him and he went inside to see what it was (and if it was edible, that fat piece of shit). He walked into the room to find Hermione bound by chains and vomiting green stuff all over everything. Neville said the spell to stop the unending green volcano from Hermione's mouth, but he left her bound by her chains. Bondage turned him on; he had known that since the time a monkey got caught in a rope at the zoo when he was six. He knew better than to let Hermione out of this.

Neville just stood watching while Hermione thrashed about wildly. "Let me out of these fucking chains before I am forced to remove my pants again!" Hermione yelled inconsequentially, as Neville got more aroused by the second. "I am serious! I am going to take these fucking pants off if you don't get me out of these damn chains!" Hermione yelled, silently cursing herself for not taking her pants off earlier, when nobody was around. Neville didn't see any problem with the removal of Hermione's trousers, so he found himself a chair and sat down for the show.

Hermione decided that Neville would fall asleep eventually, but he didn't. In case you haven't noticed, nobody in this story ever sleeps. They are awake for the entire duration of every chapter. Hermione doesn't know that though, so she was completely screwed until she decides to throw her dignity out the window (which is what every single character in this story has being doing for the past 10 chapters) and take off the pants. In the meantime, Hermione pulled out her razorblade and began awkwardly cutting herself and screaming while Neville was watching. It didn't feel right to have somebody staring intently at you while you made shallow cuts all over every parcel of exposed skin that you can reach.

Neville didn't like sado-masochism as much as he liked bondage, but it was still very, very hot. He began to unbutton his shirt, and within no time his huge flabby man-tits were exposed. "I think we should have sex" said Neville. But as things began getting hotter by the second, the Author abruptly switched scenes.


	11. Chapter 11

Seamus was having a spectacular tantrum. He was angry because he hadn't been included in a great new Harry Potter fanfiction that was being written. His Irish temper had gotten the better of him and he had gone overboard slightly on the shots of whiskey; six empty whiskey bottles lay scattered on the floor. A raging drunk Seamus was not somebody to fuck with, and that's exactly what the Author was doing. "Goddamnit, I just want somebody to write me into a situation with naked chicks! Is that so much to ask?" Seamus slurred loudly. "I just want to be included with all of my friends" he continued softly, displaying his pronounced bi-polar disorder. He grabbed the last of the whiskey out from under his bed and curled up on the floor with it, rocking back and forth on his ass and sobbing quietly. Eager to get away before Seamus had another mood swing and started killing people, the Author slunk out quietly while Seamus was engaged with his whiskey.

Ginny had finished treating Ron's significant injuries and was back in her room. It was unfortunate that she had put some clothes on, but there was nothing to be done about it. This isn't some fetish-obsessed M-rated fic, is it? But then Ginny got out her schoolgirl uniform and a whip, and the illusion was shattered. The Author was a sexual pervert who used his characters for his own twisted desires, no doubt about it.

Eager to repair His reputation, the Author forced Ginny to actually put on some decent clothes that covered almost 50 of her skin and attend a church service. Unfortunately, it was a "contemporary" service, which meant that everybody was clapping and singing Christian rock songs. The sermon consisted of saying "You have to be totally down with Jesus' never-ending love", "God should be your main homey", "Get a back-stage pass to heaven" and other random bullshit for twenty-five minutes. Thankfully, Ginny passed out soon after the sermon started, and when she awoke the service was over. To avoid getting invited to the youth group by teenaged Christian militants, Ginny went into an empty bathroom and apparated the fuck out of there.

Hey guess what! Sirius isn't dead lolololololololololololololol!11! No, really.

Going through that veil thingy had been a disappointment for Sirius. He had expected to die, at least, and get some mystical afterlife or something kick-ass like that. His expectations were crushed when he saw what was really behind the veil. There was a dank small room, with poor ventilation and little light. He thought at first he might be in hell, but after a few days of nothing happening at all, he figured he could just go back out through the veil. Wrong. He felt some mystical force (the Author) hold him back whenever he got close enough to the veil to touch it. So for the past few months, he had been sitting in this little room, with absolutely nothing to entertain himself except his own thoughts (which became incomprehensible after a few weeks, even to Sirius himself). Periodically he would unthinkingly get up to go towards the veil, but the same invisible force kept slapping him back down.

The Author was having a great time watching Sirius sink into dementia (or whatever the state is called where you don't think anything for two months). Sirius wasn't having that great of a time, though. Occasionally another person would fall through the veil (mostly poorly-trained and clumsy department of mysteries workers) but they always killed themselves after a few days, so they weren't any help. Plus, their bodies took up considerable space and smelled pretty bad.

One day The Author decided to let Sirius out, just for the heck of it. He walked out of the veil at the precise time the Burrow exploded. Having not done much of anything in two and a half months, Sirius took this new opportunity to go watch porn and smoke large quantities of weed. What a testament to his character and personality. He could do something noble like go visit Harry or something but instead he decides to get high. Hippie. Goddamnit.

"Neville, you can't just tell people that you want to have sex with them. It's not socially acceptable." Hermione was explaining gently to Neville. "It tends to put people in an awkward position". Neville looked down at his shoes and mumbled uncomfortably. "I just…you know…wanted……..sigh….". With that, Neville walked out of the house, his huge fatty fat tubbo lardy man jugs bouncing along with him. Hermione was still in the fucking pant chains. Dejected and alone, Hermione went into her natural defensive state: cutting. Since she had incredibly limited arm movement, she began to roll around the floor, banging her wrist occasionally against the floor.

Hey, you know what's funny? Only three people are going to read this chapter, and you're one of them! Isn't that fucking hilarious? The Author thinks so too. Back to the story. Or not. Whatever…I don't feel like writing any more.

No, I'm not bitter. Why do you ask?


	12. Chapter 12

After wandering out of the picture in a mystic, dark way that is completely befitting a Shadow Ninja who is a direct descendant of Godric Gryffindor, Harry found himself lost in one of the Weasley's many confusing, depressing corridors. The lack of decoration or embellishment shouldn't have been putting him in such a negative mindset, him being the Shadow Ninja impervious to emotion that he was, but it was. Harry again felt that urge…the urge…the urge to just pull out the blade and cut…cut away…cut away the pain. The two main sides of Harry's personality, Emo and Shadow Ninja (the third side of Harry's apparently triangular personality, which was normal and not fucked-around with by fanfiction writers, was in hiding deep in the cerebral cortex where nobody could bother it) were conflicting severely. No emotion in accordance with the Shadow Ninja path of enlightenment, or the overblown drama-queen emotion of an emo?

"I'm in a PICKLE!" Harry cried out in despair. At mention of the word "pickle", Ron came bounding up the stairs. He was very visibly…ahem…_excited_. "Ron, I don't mean _that_ kind of pickle. You can't get this excited every time somebody says a word that could be construed as a synonym for penis." Ron wasn't listening at all. He was staring raptly at Harry's crotch. "I give up. You're hopeless, Ron." Harry sighed, turning to walk away, his cool-Shadow-Ninja-headband flapping behind him. Ron looked vaguely disappointed, but he didn't pursue Harry. He instead grabbed some lotion and a box of tissues, and walked up to the nearest empty room (which was up an odd triangular spiral staircase made entirely out of and encased in glass) to do that one thing that nobody for the life of them could figure out.

Of course, the Author knows what he's doing in there….heheheheheh…

Harry, after that momentary distraction, returned to his previous train of thought. He was just about to make a decision about which personality he should use when Sirius came stumbling out of nowhere. He was carrying a couple of marijuana plants and was lugging a blacklight with him. He was mumbling something about finding a closet when he noticed Harry standing there, awe-struck. "Oh, hey Harry, I was just…you know…" Sirius stuttered, quickly hiding the blacklight and weed behind his back (with very little success).

Harry decided to be an emo for now. "How could you leave me Sirius!!!!? I thought we were friends, but I guess we're not! After you abandoned me…and…and…and took my girlfriend and then sabotaged my MySpace page and then made fun of me on my LiveJournal and then took my My Chemical Romance CD without ever giving it back and…and took my girlfriend and didn't get me another iPod , I could never trust you ever again ever!!! You caused my grayed soul an endless waterfall of suffering and cloudy black melancholy! AAAHHGGGHHRRRR!!" Harry whipped out his razor and began furiously slashing it across his wrists, accompanied with melodramatic screeching. "IT HURTS SO _GOOD_!!!!"

"Whoa, dude, just calm down, alright?" Sirius said gently, throwing down the stuff in his hands and putting them up in a defense posture. Harry paid no attention. He screamed loudly and ran off down the hallway, around a corner, and out of sight. A few seconds later Sirius heard a door slam and some more yowls of anguish. Sirius decided to stop caring, so he picked up his blacklight and his weed and resuming his hunt for a dark, isolated closet.

Arthur-the-minister-of-magic-for-no-reason-except-that-it-makes-it-easier-to-write-about-Ron's-house-when-it-has-a-bunch-of-rich-people-stuff-in-it was recovering from his ditch of broken glass, salt truck, and lemonade encounter. He was dealing with it in the way he saw all of his kids deal with their pain: cutting. Nobody had told him that wrist slashing was for emotional pain only. It wasn't even having that big of an effect anyway; Arthur-the-minister-of-magic was having a hard time finding a place to cut that hadn't already been shredded by the ditch of broken glass he had landed in. Plus, he had put a plastic bag over his head in a feeble attempt to kill himself, which limited his vision quite a bit. He estimated that about seven-eighths of his wild slashing motions had resulted in nothing but cutting through the air.

Arthur spent the next few hours blanketed in a shroud of futility. He stopped completely when he heard a bone-chilling howl that sounded as if it were coming up from the deepest caverns of the underworld. Lupin was there in his werewolf form, which gave him +50 agility as well as resistance to fire attacks. However, werewolves are weak to light and electric attacks, and their furry coats and inability to wear any armor except shoulder guards reduce their defense by 75 as long as the werewolf doesn't have an amethyst defense amulet, which Lupin had forgotten at home. Lupin's speed also would have been increased by 50, but he hadn't brought his winged steel boots because they were too heavy and reduced his agility too much, almost to the point where being in his werewolf form had no advantages. And unfortunately, Arthur was an expert at light attacks, plus he had his Elemental Razor with him, which gave him a 25 increase in slash attacks of any element type for fifteen seconds unless he had above level 65 wizardry, which would increase the time to thirty seconds, provided he had enough runes to cast the spell, which Arthur did. Ever since his terrible encounter with the Dragon Queen arauhobveuizji, where his best friend SirMaglathona1337 had deserted him and left him for dead, Arthur always carried with him the two time runes and the emo rune necessary to cast that spell. The terrain was also in Arthur's favor. Werewolves have their attack levels reduced while in grassland or prairie regions, and this was a grassland region. "If only this was a forest or a tundra region, I would kick this guy's ass even harder than I already will" Lupin thought furiously to himself. Unbeknownst to Lupin, Arthur was a half-druid, which gave him an increase in the power of his incantations as long as he was in a grassland, forest, or seacoast region. Arthur's "druidity" also allowed him more advanced potion-making skills, which would be useful for healing the wounds dealt by Lupin's level 78 strength character, unless of course there were no level 35 Guapo herbs in the area with which to make the advanced healing potions. If that were the case, Arthur would have to revert back to the healing techniques he had used as a lowly level 15 mage; lots of throwing up weak earthen-defensive shields while his HP went up at the rate of ten per minute. Arthur thought personally that making the potions with Guapo herbs was a lot more kick-ass, especially since you need a high herblore level to pick them. It occurred to him that the encounter with the salt truck and the lemonade (Druids especially were weak to elemental salt attacks, even though they were basically impervious to citric strikes) had reduced his HP significantly already. He took out his last resort: his enchanted opaline ring of Brdunor, which only worked once a month but restored HP to full levels provided the wearer had the ability to do level 40 stone enchantments to wrest the healing Yuvecca berries from the powerful (defense level 69) rock golems that lay nearby that the ring required to function to it's full potential. Luckily Arthur had level 58 cooking and level 47 cookery-smithing, which meant he always had the cookware and the skills necessary to get the healing juices out of the berries which required level 42 cooking unless you had salt runes, which lowered the requirement to level 37.

Christ, that was tedious. Congratulations for making it to this sentence. In fact, congratulations for even reading this fucking story! You are one of five in the world! Isn't that amazing!?

Fortunately enough for Luna, who has been forgotten for the past three chapters or so because she's completely worthless and hard to work with, the cataclysmic RPG fight (which hasn't even taken place yet) was nowhere near the woods she was currently wandering in. She was only slightly irked at this point about being abandoned by the Author, whom she totally had a crush on. She was the sort of person who let things go easily. For example, she had once been ritualistically sacrificed by an Odin-worshiping tribe of Vikings while on a trip to Sweden. By the power of crappy fanfiction writing, she had been brought back to life, and once she was reincarnated she expressed her forgiveness by sending a "gift basket". For Luna, a gift basket consisted of a bucket filled to the brim with potato chip crumbs. Needless to say, the Vikings were confused. So in that way, Luna was responsible for the raping, plundering, and pillaging of nearly half of Sweden. Oops.

Anyway, Luna was currently amusing herself by drawing in the dirt. She had drawn most of the basic stuff you expect from people who are zonked-out on acid. Random doodles, some squiggles, a vaguely UFO-shaped thingy, and some fragments of words relating to drug culture. But slowly, the acid began to wear off. It took four hours to get out of her system to the point where she had no symptoms, so she just stared at the sky while it happened. Once LSD-free, she resumed her drawings. Now they mostly consisted of poor representations of black people sitting in dumpsters and trash cans.

Ron had picked a bad time to come ambling along. He stumbled right over Luna's drawings, ruining half of them in a cloud of dirt and decaying plant matter. He did catch a glimpse of a few of them, however. "Luna, those drawings are totally depraved! You have no idea how offended people are going to be. I'm being totally serious." Ron said, putting a stern look on his face. Luna, in a classic Luna response, said "Ronald, you smell strongly of lotion." She proceeded to stomp out the rest of the drawings. "I didn't mean anything by those doodles anyway. I just think black people are funny".

Ron was gaping at the extreme offensiveness of what he had just heard from Luna's mouth. He also was secretly hoping that Luna hadn't figured out exactly _why_ he smelled like lotion. He would, like, kill himself if she knew what he did nearly day in and day out. Just the thought of it made him want to reach for his razor blade and cut. Cutting solved all of his problems. Yes, yes…just a few quick swipes and all the pain in the world is magically transferred out of his body…just a few speedy slashes, nothing more…

Before he knew what was going on, Ron had the razor blade in his hand and was holding it aloft, screeching, his hair piled all over one eye. His other hand groped for his pocket, where his thick black-rimmed glasses were stashed (when they weren't on this face, that is). This gave Luna time enough to intervene and tackle Ron. Once on the ground, Ron's sac was then giving a miraculous pounding, courtesy of Luna's boot. Blood was flowing like a majestic fountain. It was literally a geyser spewing from his crotch. It was terrible and beautiful at the same time.

It was at this point that The Author began to run out of adjectives. Lolgasp!!


	13. Chapter 13

"Aaarghhh! Everything is so dismal!!!!!!!!!!" Harry yelled at the wall of the random room he was cutting himself in. "I hope you're hearing this, Ginny!!!" he continued, grimacing in pain and anguish despite the fact that he was barely grazing his wrists at all. The black, rectangular, thick-rimmed glasses slipped off of his face and went crashing to the pleasantly carpeted floor below. This sent Harry flying off the handle, and he stomped on the glasses with all his might. He then took his fourth iPod and hurled it at the wall, the 15 GBs of "Indie" emo music such as The Used and Fall Out Boy being decimated instantly. Breathing heavily, tears streaming down his cheeks like a macabre waterfall, Harry stared upon the wreckage. The loss of the iPod took but a few seconds to sink in. "AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" Harry yelled wildly, running to his razor blade and grasping it proudly in his fist. Another round of furious "cutting" began, but this time Harry wasn't even cutting himself. He slashed his razorblade wildly through the air, yelling out brief, bird-like screams. And in a new, unprecedented form of self-mutilation, he took out his wand and whacked his thighs with it. The marks it left only lasted a few seconds, but Harry managed to get a few good pictures and he posted them on his LiveJournal with the following message:

"hey evrybdy, i was soooo pissed today at mi frend's mom cuz she wouldnt get me anther ipod because my other 1 broke. so i started 2 wihp mi thighs wit a stick and it hurt bad and god i haet my prents…"

"Now everybody will know how tortured my soul is," Harry thought to himself, hitting the "refresh" button constantly until he got some replies. After ten minutes of this and not getting a single reply from fellow emos, Harry left the computer and went off in search of more adventure.

More adventure was found in the kitchen, where Fred and George were chugging energy drinks. The debris of fifteen cases of Red Bull lay scattered on the floor in an ocean of cardboard and aluminum. It was a terrible sight to behold. Harry fought the urge to just yank out the blade and resume his symphony of wrist-slicing. He waded through the ankle deep piles of trash on the floor to do something about this. Fred and George were obviously way too hyped up on caffeine. They were shaking madly and spilling lots of Red Bull on themselves. However, Fred and George did not want to be "saved".

"Dammit, get off me! AAAAHHHH!!!!" George yelled when Harry grabbed his wrists and made him dump the remnants of his Red Bull on the floor. "THAT'S _MY_ FUCKING RED BULL YOU JUST SPILLED, DIPSHIT!!!!" George grabbed Harry and tossed him through a window while Fred got on his knees, stuck a finger down his throat, and began to throw up.

"I'm so bulimic!!!!" Fred yelled melodramatically. "Somebody please pay attention to _ME_!!!11one!!" George looked unconcernedly at his brother, who was staring sullenly into the puddle of peach-hued goodness sitting on the floor in front of him. Harry popped back up in the window to watch, his glasses comically askew. "I've had this problem for years but I've never told anyone…they all call me fat…sniffle" Fred continued in a gentler tone, a single, lone tear caressing his ashen face. George shrugged and grabbed another Red Bull from the stockpile.

"Wait, WTF is going on here?" Harry asked from the window, blood from his wounds now trickling down his face. "Your brother is bulimic and yet you do nothing!" Harry went on, sounding frighteningly like the Bible. George again did his patented non-committal shrug, and chugged another Red Bull in seven seconds. Fred resumed his vomiting. "Okay, whatevs…" Harry said, walking away from the window and walking off towards the lake to do some thinking.

Hermione was sitting at the lake too. She had no idea how she had gotten there; the last thing she could remember distinctly was watching Neville (or, more specifically, Neville's man-jugs) bounce away from her…things got murky from there. Cutting had probably occurred, but she couldn't say for sure. In any case, she was enjoying the view of the lake. There were some tweeting birds and other nature bullshit that completed the experience. Now, she thought, she just needed some hot guy to come up and serenade her…wouldn't that be romantic? At that moment, Harry came strolling up and plopped down next to her in the grass.

Fuck. Well, maybe I can make this work out.

"Hermione! How are you?" Harry exclaimed too happily. He gave her a big hug. Hermione was stiff at first (her personal bubble had been invaded) but she slowly gave in. Since hugging Hermione results in roughly the emotional fulfillment of hugging a dishwashing machine, the hug didn't last very long. Good thing, too, because any longer and Harry's bloodied wrists would have completely ruined Hermione's Lamb of God T-shirt. That probably would have gotten Harry a rapid kick in the sac. Did he want a repeat of that time he spilled butterbeer on her favorite Slipknot T-shirt? The screaming could be heard for miles.

Anyway, now Harry and Hermione were sitting awkwardly on the lakeshore. Harry was having perverted sexual fantasies as usual (this one involving no less than six midgets and a guy dressed up as a guidance counselor, as well as some power tools and electrical tape), but Hermione was waiting for something romantic to happen. She decided to take matters into her own hands. "So, uh, Harry…coughhave any good girlfriends lately?" She knew that was way too obvious, but fuck , she needed to be direct if she wanted to get anything done with this numbskull.

"Well, I was with Ginny, as you know. I had to dump her because Ron attacked me with a muffin tin. I still have the terrible muffin-shaped indents all over my chest." Harry replied, staring vacantly out into the depths, supposedly mulling over the scene in his head. None of this shit had ever happened (Harry had nearly killed Ron before he even got close with the tin) but he wanted to look like some sort of heroic innocent. "They're right here on my chest…I just have to take off my shirt…here we go…" With this Harry pulled off his shirt.

"Harry, I honestly don't see any muffin-tin marks…" Hermione managed to sputter out, her face turning as red as a stop sign. She had seen Harry without a shirt on before, but this was different…somehow more intimate…or something…

"You just have to get closer. They faded but they're still there." Harry responded, completely unconcerned with the fact that he was currently bullshitting every word that was coming out of his mouth. "Ron's attack was really violent…I have no idea why you're friends with him at all. He's a very bad, violent, uncaring, unloving, person. In fact, the word 'person' doesn't even come close to describing the inhuman monstrosity that is Ronald Weasley. Anyway, he doesn't matter now…"

Hermione hesitantly got closer to Harry's chest, her blood now pumping almost exclusively to her face, which was radiantly glowing. She began to lose feeling in her extremities. Suddenly, Harry slammed his chest into her face, rubbing his nipples all over her surprised features. Hermione withdraw immediately, mouth screaming and arms flailing. Harry began to scream in a similar manner.

"Shit, I have no idea what came over me! Oh, crap, awkward, awkward, awkward…….fuck….." Harry yelled, now covering his face with his hands and panting slightly. Hermione just stared at him, mouth agape, the color slowly flowing from her face. They stayed like that for a while as The Author pondered what to say next. He got no ideas for a while, so he just decided to cobble some crap together and embellish it with fancy words.

Hermione jumped onto Harry, kissing him madly. Harry was sort of surprised (wouldn't _you_ be?) but he went along with it. It was a romantic scene straight out of a third-rate romantic-comedy sitcom. The kissing went on for several minutes, with the two of them rolling around on the ground, the grass tickling their skin and the butterflies making lazy circles in their midst. Some other romantic-sounding shit went down, but The Author is too lazy to type it out.

Aren't all these references to The Author getting really annoying? Don't you think I'm a pretentious asshole? Aren't you pissed off? Don't you think this story would be a whole lot better without them? Screw you. Time for an abrupt scene change.

Luna died.


End file.
